Depression isn’t sitting alone in coffee shops and black beanies and listening to my chemical romance. It’s not having a couple of days where you’re sad because something bad in your life happens. It isn’t your boyfriend kissing your scars and having your world fall back together again.
I mean, it certainly can be.
But realistically, it’s not.
Depression is not being able to buy swimsuits because nothing covers the scars on your thigh from 2+ years ago.
Depression is filthy hospital floors and nurses calling codes for violent or uncooperative patients.
Depression is months after your hospitalization because of how long you romanticized it, still spending more time thinking about suicide than your family or friends.
Depression is smiling in public when you were up the whole night before sobbing hysterically into your pillow.
Depression is not being able to get out of bed on a Saturday, even when…
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